


Mother of God

by SeptSapphire



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions
Genre: Child Abuse, Gen, Manipulation, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-10-18 18:01:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10622187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeptSapphire/pseuds/SeptSapphire
Summary: And Guzma thinks to himself, this is motherly love.





	1. Well I Don't Know a Goddamn Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick note, Plumes and Lusamine will be in future chapters, but not this one, so if you're reading for that just give me a little time ^^
> 
> This story has some biblical references, but I haven't been near a church in years so with minimal background (and a bit of google, if you care to) you shouldn't be too lost.

He locks himself up in his room, cradling Wimpod to his chest and stifling hiccupped breaths. He's not _crying_. He's eleven, he's not a little kid anymore, and only little kids are supposed to cry.

A soft knock on his door startles him and pokemon alike, sending the former to his feet and the latter scuttling under the bed. But the voice that comes through the door is tentative and feminine, and his shoulders sink down from around his neck. "Guzma? Can I come in?"

She asks, but when he gives no reply she takes his silence for acceptance and pushes open the door, then shuts it behind her. His mother comes to rest on his bed while he remains standing. The position's familiar, but not quite; she's a head shorter than him since his last growth spurt.

"Oh Guzma," she sighs, "I don't know why you two have to fight like that."

Words spring to his lips, then die there. He's said them all before, and she never changes her tune. Instead, he lifts a hand absently to cradle the bruise along his jaw, and bites his tongue.

His mom gives a tired sigh. "I suppose you two will work it out eventually. Do you want anything? Some tapu cocoa?"

His grits his teeth. "I'm fine." He can't stand this. He can't stand when she pretends it was just an argument, a fair fight. It never is. She never sees it that way.

They continue in silence for a while, her shifting awkwardly on the bed, him standing stock-still. Finally, he gets up the courage to try one last time. "I think..." he starts, wets his split lip, then tries again. "Why do you let him do this?" The _to me_ goes unspoken.

"Do what, honey?" Isn't it obvious?

He shakes his head. "Never mind." Before long she's left, and Guzma is left to lay back in the bed with his thoughts. He thinks of the day he gets out of here, the day he shows them he's better than they ever thought, that he's the god of his own universe and no one's gonna stop him, least of all some old man with a golf club up his ass and the woman who watches in silence.

And if he's the god of this universe, well, she's only here to be his Judas.


	2. Right-Hand Woman

Plumeria's different from the girls he's met. She's not nice or kind, doesn't front like that. She's real, honest, and isn't afraid to let someone know when they're headin for a beat down.

She sticks around with him longer than he expects. She watches him throw a tantrum, stomp and yell, and only laughs and calls him 'Big G' when he cools down like nothing's happened, unimpressed with his display. She hangs around those kids, the dropouts from the island challenges, the runaways, the strays. She lets 'em stay, gives 'em a place to be, something to work toward.

Guzma asks her about it once. They're crashing at some crummy food joint, other customers giving the group of rowdy teens a wide berth and the server hesitating every time she has to come over. Guzma's splayed out over the bench, with Plumes sitting side-saddle, just barely leaned against him.

"So, you enjoy bein' a mom?" He asks as his eyes idly track the movement of some grunts animatedly talking with their mouths full.

She huffs. "Screw off, you know it ain't like that." But she doesn't seem done. He waits. "I just... they kinda remind me of myself. Dropouts, runaways, you know. Little shits. You don't feel that too?"

Guzma thinks of himself at their age, sitting in his room with a bruise on his jaw and a bitter fire being stoked in his heart. He thinks of what it would have been like to have someone lookin' out for him, let alone a whole team, as slapped together as they were.

"That's pretty sissy," he says finally. She smacks his arm, but he thinks she gets it.

Guzma doesn't mind havin' the kids around. He sure doesn't have the heart to kick anyone out. But they need a place to stay.

Plumeria's the one who suggests Po Town. Every rich snob on Ula'Ula set up shop there, raising big walls to keep lowlives like them out. But with how many people have joined up recently, it's over pretty soon.

Those rich snobs'll find somewhere else to stay. They got all the money in the world; what's one less town?

Grunts flood the streets, wrecking abandoned stores and cheering his name. Plumeria stands next to him, and they all yell their support for 'big sis' Plumeria and 'big bad' Guzma. He feels like a king. No, he feels bigger than even that.

It's the power he's always been chasing, since that day he lay on his bed sniveling, just thinking of what he could really do. It's the antithesis to that moment, a shining star reflected on the surface of the muddy pond that is - used to be - his life. Team Skull makes him feel like a god, with the power to tip the balance of this puny island and put himself on top.

And if he's the god of this universe, well, she's his second-in-command.


	3. Mother Mary Comes to Me

If the boat ride was uncomfortably tense, waiting in a stiff-backed chair in the heart of Aether Paradise to see a woman who under normal circumstances should be nowhere near him is unbearable.

For about the twentieth time in as many minutes he regrets not bringing Plumes with him. He feels off-balance, isolated in a way that living with a bunch of rowdy teenagers usually makes it impossible to feel. The Aether grunts who'd come to get him were terse, demanding, and didn't explain what the hell he was doing here. Left on his own for so long, he's almost starting to worry it's a trap.

The door slides open. The woman who emerges is young but refined, holds herself respectfully, in the way those rich snobs in movies do. But instead of making him sneer, he falters. He's suddenly keenly aware of his slouch, his grubby clothes, his impatient mannerisms, and how they clash with the room, a stain of black against polished white.

He fixes about the only thing he can and sits up a little. Her gaze slides over to him. "Mr. Guzma, I presume? My name is Lusamine."

Guzma finds his gaze caught by her. This is the head of Aether? She barely looks older than him, and she looks out of place amongst all the science-y... stuff.

"You're different from what I expected," he blurts, never good at keeping his thoughts to himself.

She simply lets the corners of her lips twitch up. "How so?" While she retains her pleasant smile, Guzma has the distinct impression that the fate of his trip here rides on what he says next.

Unsurprisingly, he screws it up by saying the first thing that comes to mind. "Uh, you're young."

She blinks, halted for a moment, then springs to life again. She laughs, and Guzma feels the breath rush out of him in relief. "Oh darling, you flatter me. I'm certain I'm not nearly as young as you think I am."

Finally Lusamine sits, and he can stop craning his head up to look at her; in fact, with both of them sitting, he's about a full head taller than her.

They speak of work and business deals, Lusamine laying out her case in a way that doesn't leave him mystified, but instead lets him feel like he's in on the ground floor of a covert operation.

She lays out her plans. He's got kids- er, grunts to think about.

"...and I'm sure you'll find this to be effortless, given your skill level," she finishes, watching him expectantly.

The way she looks at him is so... He can't put it into words, the way she appraises his skills and seems to like what she sees. It throws him off balance.

"Heh," he squawks out, hairline fractures in his cool exterior. He clears his throat. "And I suppose I'll be bein' compensated for this work?"

She laughs, a light, tinkling thing, that makes him feel stupid and on top of the world all at once. "Of course, nothing but the best for my new business partner."

And if he's the god of this universe, well, she's mother Mary.


End file.
